Reinventing The Wheel
by si-star-x
Summary: Sam has seen a flyer in their favourite brand of dingy diners, and he knows Dean has a bad shoulder but it's the fair. They haven't been to the fair in a long time, and it's not like he's going to force Dean to go on the rides. Prompt was Ferris Wheels.


If he squints, Sam can see the bright lights at the top of the hill and can just about make out the huge flashing circle that reaches up into the nights sky. He allows himself to smile, because he knows he's seen it before Dean has, and that's a good thing because he knows for sure that Dean is going to screw. Regardless of the events of last week, Sam knows that this activity was definitely not something Dean thought he would be bargaining for.

"C'mon, Sammy." Dean had begged just a week previous, hands clasped together in a beg and body about to slouch down into a kneel if Sam asked him to kiss his feet, 'cause he really was that desperate. "It's Metallica, dude, and there are two tickets left. Two freakin' tickets, and we're there. We're here. Can we just stay for another two days? Please?"

And it wasn't that bad. Sam knew the whole discography, hell, he'd heard it enough times. He sang along and he had to admit that it was nice to see his brother so happy. They drank beer, got bumped around by some surly-looking men wearing leather pants and Sam even let Dean buy a shirt. It was a good night.

So, part of the deal had been if Sam let them hole up for another couple of days and tag along to the show, Dean would do whatever the hell Sam wanted to do. He didn't even sling in "within reason", which is exactly why Sam thinks this is a justified and acceptable outing.

Sam doesn't even particularly want to go to the fair, it's just that he saw the flyer in the diner, and the thought of winning a goldfish and eating cotton candy and being a kid just made him giddy. They didn't have to go on any rides, Dean couldn't anyway, not with his bad shoulder held close to his chest in the black sling, but it was just the idea of it. The idea of seeing little kids running around with their parents, trying to win at crappy grab-a-bear machines and perhaps going on the Ferris wheel. Just once.

Sam hadn't even told Dean where they were going; they just had dinner in the same run-down diner that they had eaten in for breakfast, and now they were taking a detour. He knew Dean was tired, the sore shoulder taking it out of him physically, but that would only mean less resistance. Not that Dean had any reason to resist – it was just the fair, and besides, he had spent all night at a Metallica concert. This was just a town-fair. Just for a couple of hours.

Sam can tell the moment it clicks with Dean as his head jerks to the side and eyebrows furrow as he too squints to get a better look at the sign.

"Jesus, Sam."

Dean's immediate reaction makes the younger Winchester grin, and besides, he isn't taking no for an answer.

"What?" Sam replies innocently, follows the short line of cars into the designated parking zone. "You love the fair."

Dean's eyes are torn from the window and lock on Sam incredulously.

"The fuck are you talking about? I hate the fair."

"We always used to go the fair when we were kids." The Impala comes to a halt as they wait for the man wearing a neon-orange coat to direct them to an available parking space.

"Dude." Dean's eyes are rolling, a slight wince crossing his expression as his vicious head-twisting causes his shoulder to throb. "Whilst you were getting dizzy on the kiddy-coaster, Dad made me do that freakin' Texas Shootout ten times over."

"You liked the Texas Shootout." Sam shrugged, still grinning.

"I hated the Texas Shootout!" Dean exclaims, one hand raising and then slapping down against the denim of his jeans. "Sam, can we not do this?"

"I won't make you hold any plastic guns." Sam chuckles, lurches forward the car as the orange-neon guy beckons them forward with an overenthusiastic smile – just another college kid willing to do anything for a couple of extra bucks.

"Sam..." Dean replies, voice testing and raised eyebrows definitely a forced to be reckoned with. "My shoulder hurts."

That comment just has Sam laughing again, because not only would Dean never admit to that, he knows too well that it's an attempt at levering the situation in his direction, to guilt-trip him into folding.

"We're not doing anything vigorous, Dean."

Sam watches as Dean huffs in a deep breath and shakes his head weakly, a sure sign that he realises that winning is not on the cards this evening.

"Cotton candy will only make your teeth rot." Dean mumbles back, slouches back a little in the seat.

Sam hits him back with another huge grin, bright white teeth stark against his tanned skin.

There are kids. Lots of kids. Too many kids, Dean would say, but tonight Sam's not asking for his opinion. He wants some fun. Some good, wholesome, innocent fun, and he knows that Dean is not completely opposed to the idea even if he had been a bitch about it. They would just be back at the motel room right now, probably shooting back and forth snarky remarks and cleaning the guns again, so this is good for them.

"This is cool, huh?" Sam speaks excitedly, his voice raising an octave higher almost as though he's trying to embrace his inner-child as fully as possible. "What shall we do?"

"Whatever you want to do, Sammy." Dean shrugs his good shoulder, "Just not..."

But they're already standing in front of it, and Dean wishes he'd diverted the path to make this the last stop. He could have feigned genuine pain by that point if they'd walked around for a little while longer, if he'd won Sam a big-ass teddy bear that they couldn't possibly drag on the ride with them. But they had to reach it first, didn't they? And he didn't want his brother to think he is a total ass, and Sam did go to the concert. But Sam enjoyed the concert, he had admitted that. There was no way he'd force him onto the death-trap knowing full well that not only does he dislike heights but also rickety and unstable fairground rides, right?

But Sam's already looking up at in awe, the flashing lights serving as a catalyst to just drive the excitement coursing through him.

"Dean..." He murmurs softly, turning to look at his brother, expression expectant, and, damn it, hopeful. "Please?"

Dean's got it all planned out: the 'no, Sam', the 'Jesus, Sam, would you look at that thing? I saw a news article a couple of years back where ten people died on one of those' and of course 'go on it yourself'' - but all of those answers caved, and he nodded. He didn't mean to nod. Hell, he didn't want to nod.

"Once."

Once? It should have been 'never'. Oh, fuck. Fucking Sammy with that ridiculous expression he pulls when he wants something, and Dean... Dean the weak-minded loser who just doesn't want his brother to be whiny for a week.

"Just once, Sam."

Dean wrestles himself into the metal cab and settles his butt down onto the cold seat, shifting a couple of times just to test the stability. It squeaks as his weight joins the pressure Sam is already exerting on the machinery and, although it's definitely against his better judgement, he pulls the loose caging closed behind him. His bad arm is protected between both of their bodies and he allows himself a slight yawn as the car begins to rock.

Sam's eyes are wide as he takes in the surroundings, the road they just drove up, the small town and the vast expanse of Southern country that stretches out from the buildings.

"We see so much of America," He speaks softly, "But never from this height."

Of course Dean isn't so willing to succumb to the view, his eyes are still fixated on the metal cage that holds them in position and his stomach is already dropping from the slow rise. They are not even half-way up and he is starting to feel the familiar sensation of sweaty palms and breaths that are pulled in and pushed out quickly.

"Dean?" Sam picks up on the change instantly, turns his head to face his brother. "Calm down, man."

"I hate these things." Dean grunts, shifts his gaze but only enough to capture Sam in his view. "I hate you."

"You hate me." Sam chuckles, pursing his lips. "Okay."

"I do." Dean responds a little more defensively. "And if you didn't hate me, y'wouldn't have made me come up here."

"You said yes!" Sam chuckled, taking the situation light-heartedly. "This is awesome, Dean. Give it a chance."

Dean shifts his gaze again and blinks before he lets it settle in front of him. He too can see the road they arrived on, cars tiny against the dark gravel. He finds the parking lot and squints to try and spot the Impala.

"See?" Sam prompts. "It's awesome."

Dean doesn't quite think it goes as far as being 'awesome', but he keeps his lips tight. The motion of rising above the world, although stomach-churning, is quite relaxing. The intermittent squeak of their car should really concern him, but instead it's something to focus on. It's soothing, in a strange, could-soon-die kind of way. As he focuses on the car park and the squeak and the motion, he fails to realise that his eyelids are slipping and he's actually dipping into unconsciousness.

"I remember now." Sam speaks softly as they read the top of the wheel, his voice muffled by the wind as they sit close to the clouds. "You did bitch about that Texas Shootout."

If Dean had still been alert, Sam would have been on the receiving end of a punch in the arm for that comment, but as is, Dean was dead to the world. When an annoyed comment wasn't hurled back, Sam realised that Dean had drifted off.

Sam let out a muted chuckle and turned to Dean, smiling at the way his chin touches his chest lightly and the his lips are parted.

"Only you." He smiles affectionately, stretching his arm out across the back of the cab and settling his hand against Dean's shoulder.

When Dean doesn't wake as the cab grinds to a halt at the bottom, Sam lifts his hips, tugs a $20 from his back pocket and tells the guy that they'll go round another five times. He catches sight of the Impala on the third rotation and lets his own eyes close momentarily, enjoying the moment.


End file.
